And that was just it, wasn’t it? If Sam said yes, they’d have two rooms, no questions asked. Sam thought about it, thought about the long nights and the mornings, about Dan slapping his ass with a wet towel when he wasn’t paying attention, about the fucking red thongs. About the way Dean looked at him sometimes when he thought Sam wasn’t paying any attention.

“No, I like it like this,” he said decisively, trying to ignore the smirky way Ben said I told you so in his head.

Dean nodded and fidgeted for a few minutes. “Sam, that zombie, uh.”

“What?”

“He was kind of, I got the feeling he was-”

“What, Dean?” Sam asked, exasperated. It wasn’t like him to stumble over words like this.